


no matter the season, know that I love you

by labocat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, Goddess AU, Magic, Rituals, Wings, goddess/mortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-16 05:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12336153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/pseuds/labocat
Summary: Hitoka knows she’s not supposed to have favorites among the devotees. That she should be impartial and love all who send her their magic and offerings and prayers equally. But those who would tell her so have never felt magic skate and spark across their skin quite like this.In which Yachi is a goddess, Kiyoko is a priestess, and what it means to fall.





	no matter the season, know that I love you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ideallyqualia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideallyqualia/gifts).



Hitoka knows she’s not supposed to have favorites among the devotees. That she should be impartial and love all who send her their magic and offerings and prayers equally. But those who would tell her so have never felt magic skate and spark across their skin quite like this.

They all have specialties, of course, those groups whose tastes and interests align more closely with what they can grant than others. All the gods get prayers and offerings from everyone on festival days and the like, but those are general - it’s the small prayers, the ones whispered during a trying business meeting or when someone’s running late that are the groups they gather close and keep a closer eye on. It’s natural to have favorites among the normal population, she’s told.

The devotees are another story - self-selecting, they all reflect values each of the gods nurture and are meant to be the closest to them among mortals. And, as such, a single entity and untouchable. The morning prayers treated the same as evening prayers, the group as a whole, from one day to the next.

The problem is no one’s magic feels the same to Hitoka. No one else can tell the difference between devotees’ magic - all mortals look and feel the same, they tell her, with their short lifespans, unflinching progress, and unending prayers, devotees even more so with rituals and old, old magic - how could you ever tell them apart?

Hitoka tries to think on that, and some days she can almost let the warm, steady magic of the priestess who sings matins in the morning blend to feel the same as the cooler, flickering magic of the priest who lights the candles in the evening.

But no matter how she tries, there’s one priestess’s magic that always stands out.

“Yachi, you’re watching again.” Hitoka doesn’t hear Yui come up behind her and yelps, quickly scrambling to her feet from the viewing screen she’d been peering into. Yui’s eyes focus behind her on the grounds beyond the screen and soften as she smiles.

“I’ve seen her around more often than many of the others, maybe she shares your curiosity,” Yui says with a wink, and Hitoka can feel her face heat as she tries adamantly not to turn around again and keep watching.

“It-it’s natural for the mortals to be curious about their gods, though, isn’t it?” Yachi tries to keep a casual tone that she knows is ruined by the way she’s hoping Yui will disagree.

Yui simply shrugs, glancing back at the screen once more before meeting Hitoka’s eyes again. “I guess. They sure have a lot of questions for us, after all, but there aren’t a lot of us who pay attention or even have the time to pay attention to what they do when there isn’t a full inbox of requests. I’m glad you found something that you’re taking an interest in, though.” With that, she turns and leaves Hitoka with a, “don’t worry, I’ll cover for you if anyone asks. Just make sure you make it to the barbeque!”

Hitoka lets out a long breath, relieved that it had been Yui who caught her - there was nothing explicitly _wrong_ with watching the mortal realms, but it was hard to deny that the rest of the gods didn’t understand why she would want to spend all her time doing so, and she didn’t want to get in trouble. She hadn’t heard of any god ever being banished - they only ever left their post through natural retirement - but the thought of the Council staring down at her, pointing her out of the Divine Realms can’t help but flash through her mind. Hitoka doesn’t know how to explain the peace of letting the devotees’ calming magic wash over her or the way the magic from their daily rituals stays with her longer if she watches from a screen rather than letting it infuse her while during another activity. She doesn’t know how to say that she can tell each spell from another or who of the devotees had led it by the way it feels under her skin. 

All she can do is sigh, the sound wistful as she turns back to the screen.

\-----

Hitoka knows they aren’t supposed to use their visits to the mortal realms for anything the Council would consider “trivial”, but in her mind there’s nothing trivial about the way her devotees’ magic swims through her blood, nor the way she can feel one specific spark of magic become more and more prominent, more common even during rituals Hitoka has never felt her magic in before. But she still knows it would get her in trouble if anyone happened to check in and see her visiting her grounds. So she sits high in a tree, the branches shielding her from eyes both mortal and not, enjoying all that comes with being in the mortal world. The smell of the incense is stronger down here and she breathes it in deeply as the breeze that brings it to her ruffles the feathers of her small, slightly-spread wings. Everything feels more intense down here, to the point of being overwhelming, which she blames for why she doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching her tree or the soft humming that accompanies it.

She’s thus startled by the brush of magic against her senses, a small light spell she wouldn’t normally feel. It’s not directed at her, not wrapped in prayer or ritual - simply magic for the sake of usefulness and the joy of having magic, but the nearness of it and the familiar signature catches her attention. She jerks around to see where the spell was cast, remembering too late that she sits on branches, and high, thin ones at that. Her wings flail slightly, uselessly, too small to actually bear any weight, crashing against branches before she can tuck them against her back as she twists to try and make landing as painless as she can.

It’s not a surprise to see feet in front of her as she opens her eyes - Hitoka would’ve been more surprised if she _hadn’t_ manage to call everyone within earshot over with the racket - but the _who_ is. Her hands fly up to her mouth to try to suppress the squeak at seeing the priestess she’d watched for so long crouch in front of her, her normally peacefully stoic face pulled tight, with a furrow between her eyebrows that Hitoka wishes she could wipe away with her hand. Is she mad? Is she going to leave, now that she realizes that her goddess is a klutz who can’t even handle a simple visit to her own grounds? Maybe Hitoka can pass herself off as a lesser deity, simply a messenger. Then she won’t have to lose the magic she thinks has called her here.

“Are you alright? That was quite a fall.” The priestess’s eyes are roving over Hitoka behind her glasses, looking for anything more serious than the scratches Hitoka can feel already. Nothing feels horribly wrong, but Hitoka watches the priestess’s face go white with shock and feels dread flood her. What’s wrong? Is there a branch or wound she can’t see? She doesn’t think she can die on these visits, but doesn’t really want to find out. Then she realizes where the priestess is currently looking.

Over her shoulder, where the very tip of her wing is likely peeking up from where she’d pulled it close to her body. The priestess doesn’t scramble back like Hitoka knows she would have if their positions had been reversed, but she does stiffen, a rigid formality in the line of her shoulders and set of her mouth that makes Hitoka wish she were better at hiding her wings, that the wings didn’t mark her as divine, something, _anything_ to make it disappear.

“I’m so sorry! I only meant to watch, I didn’t meant to disturb you!” Because that doesn’t sound _worse_ or creepier, and Hitoka only has a brief glimpse of the horror that passes over the priestess’s face as Hitoka falls into a deep bow to think that maybe that wasn’t the best move, either. 

In a blink, the priestess is at her level, pulling Hitoka up by her shoulders, and all Hitoka thinks is, _she really is lovelier with the formality gone_. There’s only raw shock and a fierceness in the priestess’s eyes that brings a flush to Hitoka’s face, which only deepens when she realizes she’s staring. 

The priestess, too, flushes as she jerks her hands back from Hitoka’s shoulders, quickly pushing up glasses that have slid down the bridge of her nose, the tension and formality bleeding back into her muscles and already it’s more than Hitoka can stand.

“Oh, please don’t; I’ll bow again if I have to. It feels so strange to be so formal when I’ve watched you for so long.” And with the widening of the priestess’s eyes, Hitoka knows she’s said the wrong thing _yet again_. The priestess takes another moment to glance over Hitoka, then look around at the grounds around them. Sacred grounds never have images of the gods they’re dedicated to, instead being decorated with symbols and artwork closely tied to their magics or tendencies, but Hitoka knows at this point there is no passing herself off as a lesser deity or spirit.

“Yachi?” The priestess’s voice is hushed and a little awed, and really, Hitoka thinks, that combination shouldn’t make her stomach do as many flips as it is right now. She tries to call on all her years as a deity, the lessons in composure she’d never quite been able to make stick since taking over for her mother, then gives it all up in favor of a smile.

“Please? Call me Hitoka?” She’s never asked anyone else to call her by her lesser name, but she’d always liked the more intimate feel it gave prayers she received under it, that they felt really hers, and it only seems right that this priestess, whose magic sung in her blood with almost as much familiarity as her own, should do the same.

Hitoka can see the shock war with desire to simply give in to a god’s request, and the slight hesitation makes her like the priestess even more, even as her breath is taken away by the smile that spreads across the priestess’s own face as she comes to a decision.

“Then you must call me Kiyoko.”

“Kiyoko,” Hitoka breathes, and it’s worth it for the way the beaming smile she can feel across her own face is reflected in Kiyoko’s eyes, even if her actual smile is softer, the lean of her body graceful as she stands to help Hitoka to her feet.

Hitoka carries the feel of not only Kiyoko’s magic but the feel of her hand in hers with her long after she’s returned to the Divine Realms.

\-------

If Hitoka had thought before that she could feel Kiyoko’s magic more often the previous weeks, it was nothing compared to the next few. The month leading up to the week of festivals marking the start of autumn has always been rife with preparations and magic thick in the air as everyone doubles down, but it seems that Hitoka can sense Kiyoko’s magic in every working and every ritual on her grounds. When she risks a peek, she sees it is true, that Kiyoko holds a position in almost every circle, every dance, every procession that prepared the grounds for the equinox. Hitoka almost feels exhausted just looking, but Kiyoko hadn’t changed the frequency of her own prayers, though the tone of them had shifted. While there had been warmth before, it was the surety of belief and the knowledge that her prayer would be heard, even if not answered. Now, the warmth wraps around Hitoka like a blanket as the prayers drift up, curling around her hand as if Kiyoko still held it. It brings to Hitoka’s mind the smile in Kiyoko’s eyes and the one, precious laugh Hitoka had drawn from her, the sound echoing in her mind like the purest-cast bell as she’d laughed at the way the feathers of Hitoka’s wings ruffled when she’d been surprised by one of the grounds’ cats darting in front of her as they’d walked. She’d clung to Kiyoko’s hand, one hand pressed to her racing heart as she’d tried to calm it, but almost wanting it to happen again. The prayers feel like one-sided conversations, a real wish underlying the prayer, and with each one, Hitoka wishes the equinox would come faster.

The first festival starts at sunrise the day of the equinox, so the night before is a rush around the Divine Realms, every god prepping and primping for their appearance. It’s always been one of Hitoka’s favorites, the sun backlighting them as they appear to those assembled, the Council’s magic allowing them to appear at all at once, at every grounds. It had seemed a dazzling display of magic before, but now all Hitoka can think is that she could use magic like that to flit down to the mortal realms whenever she needed. For now she sets another comb in her hair, a spray of stars carved from jet and gold and set in silver wire curving gently on each side of her head to float abover her hair. The combs complement the clasp on her dress, a short white confection with a skirt that flounces any time she moves. She wonders what Kiyoko will be wearing, what role she will have taken in this year’s ritual. There had been no hint in the feel of the preparations, nor in Kiyoko’s evening prayers, and suddenly, sunrise can’t come quickly enough.

Hitoka all but dashes to her place in the lineup of gods, next to Yui; she can see the sun behind them, Hinata taking his place at the back of the assembled line as the gates that form the formal barrier between the realms open. She knows the assemblage of gods will appear at every grounds, but her own view is that of her own and her eyes dart over the crowd of both devotees and locals who have come just for the festival, looking for Kiyoko.

Her breath catches in her throat when she doesn’t see Kiyoko in the first procession of devotees, mind racing wildly trying to remember all the different roles of this ritual as compared to the others - Yui had first laughed at her sheets and color-coded diagram those first few years as she’d tried to learn all of them, to do her proper duty as a goddess, but had ended up asking for help making one of her own. Hitoka sees that Kiyoko isn’t on the steps leading to the main hall, either, which can only mean one thing. 

It’s traditional for everyone to watch the progress of Autumn as they come out to greet the last rays of Summer and take on the new season, instead of admiring the assemblage of gods or the grounds, but Hitoka doesn’t know that she could look anywhere else. Kiyoko comes through the doors of the main hall, flanked by the priests performing Spring and Winter. She carries the symbol of Summer, a golden fan, in her arms to present to Hitoka at the end of the season. Her hair is up, dressed with a golden wreath of grains and the flowing dress she wears waves gently in the breeze, and Hitoka is glad she’s meant to step forward to meet her because she doesn’t think she could have stopped herself from doing otherwise. Kiyoko’s progress is slow as she stops and accepts the blessings of each devotee in line, letting her own magic flow out in front of her as it gathers strength from each. It spills outward, lapping at Hitoka’s feet like a warm tide and she takes reassurance from it, drinking in the feel of Kiyoko’s magic and letting the giddiness of it mingle with her own. There’s no sign of the way it bubbles and fizzes happily in the expression on Kiyoko’s face, as she stays perfectly calm and composed as she makes her way down to the gates, and Hitoka briefly wonders if anyone else can tell or if this is just for her.

Hitoka can’t remember if it’s part of the ritual or not, but when Kiyoko extends her hands, handing the golden fan to one of the messenger attendants behind Hitoka, she reaches out and takes Kiyoko’s hands without hesitation. They are as warm as she remembers, and she’s glad her devotees tend to be a forgiving, happy group as she laughs, delighted, as Kiyoko gives her hands a slight squeeze. They all smile in return, basking in the radiance of the last summer sunrise of the year, cheering as Hitoka leans down and kisses Kiyoko’s forehead, giving her blessing for the changing season. Not a one of them seems to notice the way Hitoka’s face flushes as she straightens, but the priest performing Spring gives her a wink when she doesn’t immediately drop Kiyoko’s hands. It’s not traditional, and Hitoka knows much of the power in the grounds comes from old magics, rituals run so long as to be as much of the grounds’ foundation as the keystones, but she wishes she could switch the golden wreath for the spray of stars tucked into her own hair, to see how they would wink against Kiyoko’s.

Later, she tells herself. Now is important, too.

The attendant hands Hitoka a sheaf of grain, the symbol of Autumn, which she hands to Kiyoko, who steps back, smiling. The seasons exchanged and autumn begun, the gods all step back as well and the gates close, separating the realms once more. Each of the gods will appear in their grounds later on in the week, more rituals to bless the harvest and the transition, but all Hitoka can think about now is what Kiyoko had whispered to her before they’d separated: _Tonight. By the tree?_ It had been a question in Kiyoko’s voice but never in Hitoka’s mind, and she prepares once again to go down to the mortal realms.

Kiyoko is waiting for her there, still except for her constantly fidgeting hands. Hitoka takes a moment to wish she could be that still, that poised, but it passes as Kiyoko looks up and sees her, her expression opening and even though it is night, crickets taking over from cicadas, Hitoka would have sworn she could feel the warmth of the sun once again. They meet in the middle, taking each other’s hands, and both of them lean in and then out again before any contact, laughing. Emboldened by Kiyoko’s eyes dancing as they meet hers, Hitoka lets go with one hand so as to be able to reach up and take a comb out of her hair. She’d left the star combs in, and while leaving her hair dressed meant she couldn’t change her clothes from the formal dress she’d worn at that morning’s ritual, she was gratified to see none of the formality or tension from their first meeting in Kiyoko’s body language. She slides the comb into Kiyoko’s hair like she’d wanted to hours ago, tucking it in so that the silver wire spreads against the curve of her skull and the jet and gold of the stars picks up the lights of the gardens of the grounds, twinkling like the sky above them. There isn’t much of a height difference between them, but Hitoka still finds herself on her toes so as to better set and admire the comb, and the spark of magic she feels through the squeeze of Kiyoko’s hand assures her this is more than okay. Kiyoko’s magic, if possible, is even more active, wilder than this morning, and Hitoka’s heart races to try and match the pulse of it. Heart pounding in her ears, as she settles back onto the balls of her feet Hitoka brushes a kiss across Kiyoko’s cheek. Just a light kiss, and her own cheeks flame as she meets Kiyoko’s eyes. She hopes she hasn’t read the situation incorrectly, but she has heard many stories where a devotee’s love for their god had been misinterpreted in either direction.

Her heart pounds in her throat for the longest three seconds of her life before Kiyoko smiles, the soft one that is more in her eyes than her lips, leans in, and presses those slightly-upturned lips to Hitoka’s own.

It’s a second that feels like an eternity, with Kiyoko leaning into her and Hitoka clutching both her hands like a lifeline, but Kiyoko’s magic is sparking through her until it seems like there’s no separation between her magic and Kiyoko’s and it feels like coming home.

As they part, Hitoka can feel her wings spread out behind her and ruffling, but would have known regardless by the way Kiyoko can’t help but let a laugh escape. She can’t hide it behind a hand because Hitoka is still holding on to both of them, which makes her treasure it all the more.

“May I?” Kiyoko asks, nodding behind Hitoka to her wings.

Hitoka can only nod, breath caught alongside her heart in her throat as Kiyoko reaches back and smooths the feathers back into place. She leans into Kiyoko’s touch, sighing with relief. 

“Thanks; I can’t always reach them because they’re so small, but I don’t have them at home so sometimes I just have to bear with it until I leave and really, this is so much better because if I leave it it’s a bit like walking around with leaves in your hair except I don’t think you’ve ever had that problem because your hair is lovely,” she lets out in a rush. Then, realizing Kiyoko is staring, flushes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to ramble, I just really do appreciate it!” She stops herself from saying that it felt nice, comforting like having someone brush her hair as Kiyoko laughs again.

“You don’t need to apologize; I like hearing about you.” Kiyoko hums slightly as she resumes preening Hitoka’s wings, stroking the small dappled feathers into place. “I didn’t know you only had these here - I’ve always thought of you with wings, even in the Divine Realms.” She stops abruptly, blushing as if she’s embarrassed at what she’s said but Hitoka can’t think of anything other than the fact that Kiyoko had been thinking about her. _She’s a priestess, of course she would,_ she thinks, but Kiyoko had been the one to lean in and kiss her, and so Hitoka waits, letting herself bask in the comfortable silence and the feel of Kiyoko’s fingers in her feathers.

“I used to wonder what sort of wings I would have. When I was younger, that is.” Kiyoko breaks the silence as she finishes, lifting her hands away from Hitoka’s wings even though her touch lingers like it always does. Hitoka’s not sure that she could bear for anyone else to touch her wings after this, wondering if she can ask for this every visit, but then Kiyoko’s question catches up with her wandering mind.

“Gold,” she says, with a nod. “Not a shining gold or anything cold like that, but one that’s more of a warm natural tone, one that you want to touch and get lost in. I think they’d be beautiful. Like your magic. Like you,” she finishes, for once consciously letting her rambling thoughts go after meeting Kiyoko’s eyes and gaining courage from the warmth she saw there.

“My magic?”

Hitoka nods. “Your magic always stands out to me; I can always tell what rituals you take part in because your magic lingers with me the longest.” She ducks her head, embarrassed, before Kiyoko lifts her chin back up to meet her eyes.

“I...we were always told the rituals hid our individual signatures.” She sounds a bit awed, and Hitoka knows the feeling, feels it all the stronger as Kiyoko smiles at her again. “Can you feel my magic now?”

Hitoka can absolutely feel it, still mingling with her own magic like it was always a part of her, and she nods again. “Like it’s almost my own,” she whispers. “It really is beautiful,” she adds, thinking of how her entire body feels alive and sparkling, like the way her comb sparkles in Kiyoko’s hair.

“I’m so glad.” Kiyoko pauses, seeming to think about her next words. “I’d always known I’d be a priestess; my entire family are at grounds, but something about this one called me here. It always felt warmer, welcoming.” She ducks her head slightly, peeking up at Hitoka through her lashes, above the rim of her glasses. “I’ve been called silent, and thought cold for it, but I felt like something in these grounds would see through that, and now I know with certainty that it was you, that you called me here.” Hitoka can feel Kiyoko’s hand in hers again, squeezing softly, and she squeezes back in solidarity, taking as much comfort as she hopes she’s giving.

Hitoka leans in to kiss Kiyoko softly: on her lips, her cheek, her brow, echoing the kiss she’d given her as Autumn earlier that day. It seems Kiyoko is thinking of that too, because she smiles and says, “you know I can’t perform every Season, but if you can feel my magic the most strongly through each ritual, I can be happy with that.” Hitoka can’t help but smile and kiss her again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to make it up to you once the formalities are done. No matter the season.” They both lean in together this time, and as she parts, Hitoka leans back, staring up at the sky in contentment. At the lingering feel of Kiyoko’s lips on hers, of Kiyoko’s hand in hers, her touch on her shoulders, her wings, her cheek, and most of all at the way she’s starting to forget what her own magic felt like separate from Kiyoko’s. It feels right combined, in a way she realizes she’s been searching for since she realized magical signatures felt different to her, and she keeps the realization close to her chest, letting it warm her alongside the thought of what the future holds for them, together.


End file.
